The Third Holmes
by flirtingwithanarchy
Summary: Enola has just moved back to London, not having seen either of her brothers for four years. After an incident that changed her life forever, she moved to America to finish school and get away from sociopathic tendencies. Now that she's back Enola is thrown head first into Sherlock and John's many crime solving adventures...full summary in Chapter One!
1. Summary

p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;"Enola has just moved back to London, not having seen either of her brothers for four years. After an incident that changed her life forever, she moved to America to finish school and get away from sociopathic tendencies. Now that she's back, Enola is thrown head first into Sherlock and John's many crime solving adventures and can't help when she starst slipping back into old habits. Her brothers do what they can to help her but she she meets a certain Consulting Criminal, she has to choose between good or bad./p  
p style="margin: 20px 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;"(Future Enola X Moriarty!)/p 


	2. Chapter One

John Watson walked into 221B hauling bags of groceries with each hand. He fought the door open and shut it with his foot, grumbling under his breath about Sherlock never helping with the groceries. He made his way to the kitchen and set the bags down on the already crowded counters; he started putting the eggs away when his entire body froze. He walked back out to the sitting room. There was a girl laying on the couch texting.

"Um." He cleared his throat, "Who are you?"

"Hi." She waved a hand in his direction. He couldn't see her face behind her phone.

"Hello. Can I help you?"

"Not really." She said.

"Are you a client?"

"Nope." She said, popping the p.

Just then, Sherlock came out of the loo, hair a mess and dressed in pajamas. John gave him a rather distressed look and gestured to the girl. The taller man looked at her with little interest and then back at John. The doctor sighed.

"Move your legs." Sherlock said casually to the girl. She pulled her legs closer to her chest so he could sit down then she rested them in his lap.

"Alright, am I missing something?" John crossed his arms.

"Yup." The two on the couch said in unison.

"What is it I'm missing?"

Sherlock sighed, "John, this is my sister Enola. I thought I told you."

"No…you didn't…"

"Well I was thinking it. Why couldn't you hear?"

"People can't read minds, Sherlock." Enola set her phone down and sat up. John was taken aback by the resemblance the two shared. She had the same curly, dark hair and blue eyes. While her face was structurally softer, her nose was pointed like his. She had thin lips like Mycroft and a sprinkle of freckles she didn't share with either of the two men.

"It's nice to meet you, Dr. Watson. I've been reading your blog." She stood up and shook his hand. She was obviously younger than Sherlock by about ten years with a small frame and gentle hands. John was about to reply when her phone signaled her to a new message.

"Is that Mycroft?" her brother asked, checking his phone as well.

"Yes, he's having a fit. Seems he doesn't want me to move in downstairs."

"Well of course he doesn't. It's not a very good idea."

"You're moving in downstairs?" john asked, "Wait…why isn't a good idea?"

She shrugged, "I'm twenty-three years old. He can't tell me where to live, British Government or not."

Enola's eyes looked over him as she realized he'd asked her a question. Obviously right handed, the fingers were calloused. Small shadows under his eyes, trouble sleeping, probably from Sherlock experimenting late at night. One of the experiments had even singed a little part of John's eyebrow off. He'd gotten a haircut the day previously. He'd lived in a colder area all his life because he'd forgotten to put sunscreen on the back of his neck and the corner of his nose. He didn't know about the sunburns yet but it was going to get worse over the next couple of days.

"221C." she nodded.

"The basement? No one's ever lived in there." Sherlock scrutinized.

"Exactly." She pushed dark hair out of her face, "I'll be sleeping in your room until my furniture gets here. I doubt you'll mind since you've been sleeping on the couch or in the bathtub for the last two weeks."

"How did she know that?" the doctor frowned, looking from one Holmes to the other.

"It's a secret." The two said in sync and he wasn't sure if he could live under the same roof as two of them.


	3. Chapter Two

"I know it's a mess dear. I'm surprised you want it." Mrs. Hudson unlocked the door to 221C.

"Not at all. I'm going to have a lot of use for this." Enola beamed.

"You and your brothers are rather odd, aren't you?" she handed the young girl a key, "This one is yours. I have my own if you lose it but try not to."

"I'll do my best."

Slipping the key into the front pocket of her blue jeans, she made her way up the stairs to where Sherlock was loading a gun on the couch.

"I can tell you're bored but blowing your brains out really isn't the answer, brother dear."

He rolled his eyes, aiming at the smiley face spray painted on the wall and pulling the trigger. The gunshot made her heart speed up and her thin fingers twitched at her side. Her eyes glazed over and she was back on the street that stormy winter day four years ago. Enola could feel the warm metal in her cold hand. She could hear h is quiet groans.

"What the hell are you doing?!" John's yell broke her from her trance and she blinked back to reality. Sherlock had shot a smiley face into the wall.

"Bored." The Consulting Detective grumbled.

"What?" John stared at him in utter disbelief.

"Bored." Sherlock repeated, shooting the wall again. "Bored!"

John grabbed the fun out of the taller man's hands and shot Enola a questioning glare.

"He was like this when I came up." She shrugged, hiding her shaking hands behind her back.

"Don't know what's got into the criminal classes. Good job. I'm not one of them." He curled up on the couch.

Enola rolled her eyes and walked into the kitchen to make some tea, hoping to calm her nerves after her episode.

A few minutes later, John came into the kitchen. He threw his arms u in despair when he saw the mess on the table and groaned.

"He was dissecting eyeballs." She explained.

He sighed and walked towards the fridge, "Anything in? I'm starving."

"Might not want to open the fridge. Just a heads up." She said over her cup of tea.

"Why not?" he opened the fridge door, "Oh f-" and closed it.

Enola found herself giggling at her own pun and the look on John's face when he opened the fridge again.

"It's hard." He turned to her, "A severed head!"

"Just tea for me, thanks." Sherlock replied.

"No, there's a head in the fridge." He stormed into the sitting room.

"I'm surprised this is new to you, John." She called.

"A bloody head!" he ignored hear.

"Well where else was I supposed to put it?" Sherlock scoffed.

"The freezer." Enola suggested, curling up in Sherlock's chair.

John stood slack mouthed, staring incredulously at the two of them.

"You don't mind, do you?" Sherlock frowned.

"I think he does, brother dear."

The doctor looked from the bullet holes in the wall to the fridge.

"I got it from Bart's morgue."

"What do you need it for anyway?"

"I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death."

"Cool."

"You two are bloody insane." John frowned.

"I see you've written up the taxi driver case." Sherlock stated, not really very interested.

"Uh, yes." John sat down slowly.

"A Study in Pink. Nice."

"Well, you know, pink lady, pink case, pink phone; there was a lot of pink. Did you like it?"

"I liked it." Enola chimed in.

"Erm no." Sherlock started reading a magazine.

"Why not?" John frowned, "I thought you'd be flattered."

"Flattered? 'Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things."

"It is true." Enola muttered.

"Now hand on a minute." John said, "I didn't mean that in a-"

"Oh you meant 'spectacularly ignorant' in a nice way!"

"Nicer than some of the things I've said to you."

Sherlock ignored his sister's remark, "Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister…"

"I know." John mumbled.

"…or who's sleeping with who…"

"Whether the Earth goes around the sun."

"Not that again. It's not important."

"Is that why you failed Science in primary school?" Enola asked.

John ignored her this time, "It's primary school stuff. How can you not know that?"

Rolling her eyes, Enola went back into the kitchen to pour herself more tea.

"Where are you going?" she heard Sherlock ask.

"Out. I need some air." John shut the door behind them.

"Have the two of you had a little domestic?" Mrs. Hudson asked, coming into the sitting room.

"Do you really not know that the Earth goes around the sun?" Enola called. He ignored and she frowned. She'd never liked being ignored.

"Oh, I'm sure something'll turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder, that'll cheer you up." She started walking towards the door, "Hey. What've you done to my bloody wall?!"

"He was bored." Enola explained.

"This is going on your rent, young man!"

"I think you made John angry." His sister said once the land lady left.

Sherlock was about to reply when an explosion went off.

The room was dark. Shards of glass and pieces of wood littered the floor. It felt hard to breathe. Sherlock groaned from the other side of the room so she knew he was okay. Enola looked down at her hands. There were pieces of glass poking out of her skin. Her eyes were transfixed by the smudges of blood.

"Enola. Enola, can you hear me?" Sherlock trudge over to where she was lying. She has several small cuts on her face. Eyes dilated, holding her breath, escalated heart rate. She was having an episode.

"Come on." He grabbed her arm and pulled her into a sitting position. She flinched away from his touch as she regained her senses.

"What the hell happened?"

"I'm not sure. Are you alright? Your wounds don't seem too deep."

"Yeah, I'm alright. Just sting a little."

"I really don't like what you've done with the place." Mycroft walked in.

"Neither do I. it's a bit too sharp." Enola stood up and dusted off her jeans.

The eldest of the three walked over to the three and held her face in his hands, "Nothing too serious, no concussion. You've had an episode though."

"How did you know that?" she pulled away from him.

"Your eyes." Her brothers said in unison.

"I knew letting you come back was a bad idea." Mycroft frowned, "Your second day and you've already been triggered."

"I'm fine, Mycroft! I can take care of myself."

"It's not you I'm worried about."

"What?"

"He has a point." Sherlock said.

"Of course I do, which is why you won't be living on Baker Street."

"What?! Mycroft I'm old enough to decide where to live."

"This isn't debatable, Enola. I've made up my mind and that's final."

"But why?"

"Because you're an unstable sociopath with PTSD and an uncontrollable need to manipulate others."

Enola stood up and stomped down the stairs, "I'm going for a walk."

She knew he was right. Living near Sherlock would drag her back into the crime scene and it was only a matter of time before someone would get hurt. She still didn't like that she was being manipulated. There was no point arguing with her eldest brother. He'd made up his mind.

While she was walking down the street, Enola was too lost in thought to notice where she was walking. She bumped into someone blindly. She would have fallen over had a pair of hands not grabbed her waist.

"Oh! Hell, I'm sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going." She exclaimed.

"Oh well neither was I, love." He laughed. He was tall, fair skinned with dark hair and brown eyes. Her blue ones scanned over him. Single. Heavy smoker. No pets. No family to speak of. Well groomed.

"Oh, you're hurt." He reached up and gently touched the small cuts on her face.

"Yeah, the windows in my flat broke." She looked up at him; a small blush crossed her face.

"Oh no! I'm glad you're alright. Uh I'm Richard, Richard Brooke."

"Enola Holmes, pleasure to meet you."

He kissed the top of her hand, looking into her eyes, "Believe me, the pleasure is all mine."


	4. Chapter Three

**Hi guys! I just wanted to say hey and thanks for the faves and follows. I hope you guys like the story. :)**

**-flirtingwtihanarchy**

* * *

A few hours later, Enola was still out walking. She didn't want to go back to the flat and risk another argument so she'd finally decided to get a cup of coffee. She sat down at one of the small tables outside the shop; cup of coffee warming her hands. Absentmindedly, she checked her phone to see if Sherlock had texted her. He hadn't.

Maybe coming back to London had been a bad idea. All her friends were back in America and she wasn't really sure what she was going to do with a degree in English. Is she asked, Enola knew Mycroft would be more than happy to send her back, away from temptation. But if only it was as simple as that. No matter where she went, it was always there- that feelings, the need to manipulate others, hurt them. Sometimes she wondered what her life would have been like had she not pulled that trigger four years ago.

For the second time that day, she was ripped from her thoughts when someone bumped into the back of her chair.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" the familiar voice exclaimed.

She turned around to see Richard standing in front of her, holding a coffee.

"Enola." He smiled.

She smiled back, "You remembered my name."

"Well beautiful woman, beautiful name. Hard to forget. Mind if I sit?" he gestured to the seat across from her.

"Of course." She nodded.

He sat down and looked her over as he took a sip of his coffee, black with one sugar.

"Of all the people to run into twice in one day," he said, "I'm glad it was you."

She laughed, "I suppose so." Just then, her phone went off. "Sorry, that's probably my brother."

**Do you have your key? –SH**

After reading the message, Enola checked her pocket.

**Yes, why? –EH**

**Trainers. –SH**

The dark haired woman rolled her eyes at his vague reply and put her phone away.

"So what is it you do?" Richard asked.

"Nothing yet, I actually just finished Uni in America last month. What do you do?"

"Consulting, people come to me with problems and I make them go away."

"Oh interesting. Well the next time I have a problem I will definitely go to you."

He laughed and checked his watch, "Oh silly me! I have an appointment. It was wonderful to run into you again Enola."

"You as well."

Not even a minute after he'd left, her phone went off.

**St. Bart's. 10 mins. –SH**


	5. Chapter Four

**And now we get to see a bit of Moriarty. :D**

* * *

"So who'd you suppose it is?" John asked.

"Hmm?" Sherlock hummed, looking into a microscope.

"The woman?" Enola offered.

"Yes, the woman on the phone. The crying woman."

"Oh she doesn't matter." Sherlock said blandly, "She's just a hostage. No lead there."

The other man sighed, "For God's sake, I wasn't thinking about leads."

"Don't bother John. Sherlock is the most apathetic person you'll ever meet."

He covered his face with a hand, "Neither of you are going to be of use to her."

Enola ignored the rest of their conversation. It was rather boring. She walked around the room, looking at all the scientific tools and specimens. She was looking at what had to be a blood sample when Molly Hooper came in.

"Any luck?" she asked, looking at Sherlock.

"Oh yes!" he shouted triumphantly.

The door opened again and a man popped his head in.

"Oh sorry, I didn't…" he said shyly.

"Jim, hi! Come in. come in." Molly pulled him into the room.

His eyes caught Enola's for a second and she frowned. This was Richard Brooks, the man she'd met earlier that day. What was he doing here? Why was she calling him Jim? Why was he ogling her older brother like he was the last drop of water on the planet?

"Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes." Molly turned to the others, "And uh…"

"John Watson, hi."

"Enola Holmes." She leaned forward and shook hands with him.

Jim/Richard (she wasn't sure what his name actually was) smiled at her. She could tell he hasn't expected to see her here and if he was distressed at all then he wasn't showing it. She found herself unbelievably fascinated with him.

"So you're Sherlock Holmes." He said in an English accent and not the Irish one he'd used before, "Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?"

"Jim works in I.T. upstairs. That's how we met, office romance." Molly giggled.

"That's sweet." Enola said, trying to sound convincing.

Sherlock looked over Jim before returning to the microscope, "Gay."

Molly's face fell, "Sorry, what?"

Sherlock seemed to realize what he said and he turned back to Jim, "Um hey."

Jim smiled back amorously, "Hey." He moved to lean against the table next to him but he knocked over a metal bowl. "Sorry! Sorry!" he exclaimed, picking it up.

He stepped away from the table and scratched his arm awkwardly before walking back to Molly, "Well I'd better be off. I'll see you at the Fox, about six-ish?"

"Yeah." She smiled.

"Bye."

"Bye."

"It was nice to meet you." He looked longingly at Sherlock.

"You too." John said to fill the awkward silence.

"What do you mean gay? We're together." Molly frowned.

"And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you."

"Two and a half."

"Three."

"He's not gay! Why do you always have to spoil…he's not."

"With that level of personal grooming?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Because he puts a bit of product in his hair?" John cut in, "_I _put product in my hair."

"John, you only wash your hair." Enola explained.

"There's a difference." Sherlock nodded in agreement, "No, no, no. tinted eyelashes, clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines, those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear."

"His underwear?" Molly frowned.

"Visible above the waistline, very visible, particular brand." He picked up a piece of paper underneath the metal bowl Jim dropped, "That plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this disk. I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain."

Enola found herself staring at the slip of paper with a series of numbers written on it in sloppy cursive. Jim/Richard, he wasn't who he said he was. She wanted to know he was playing at. She stood behind Sherlock's shoulder, running the number in her head until she memorized it.

"I have to call Mycroft about my new living arrangements." She lied, putting a tone of disdain in her voice make it sound more authentic. Sherlock didn't say anything, too busy listening to John assess the trainers that had belonged to Carl Powers. Enola slipped out of the hospital and onto the almost empty street. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed the number as she started walking.

"Hello?" answered an Irish sing song voice.

"Hello." She said.

"I was wondering when you would call. Can we meet somewhere?" he asked gleefully.

"Alright." She nodded even though he couldn't see.

"I'll text you the address. Be there in ten minutes."

"Not like I have anything else to do."

"Not yet."

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**Well what do you guys think? What is Enola getting herself into? How does she tie into Moriarty's big scheme to eliminate Sherlock Holmes?**


	6. Chapter Five

"You're late." Jim said when Enola walked into the empty warehouse.

"I didn't really think you'd mind." She pushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

He looked her over. In her early twenties. Had braces when she was eighteen. Straightens her hair often. Been biting her nails for the last twelve years. She had scars on her arms, most likely self-inflicted. The newest was no more than a month old.

"So I take it your name isn't Richard?" Enola asked.

"Nope." He replied popping the p.

"So who are you really?"

"James Moriarty, but you can call me Jim." He winked at her.

"Moriarty." She mumbled. Sherlock had said the name once before and John had mentioned it on his blog.

"Yes, you've probably heard of me. I'm rather well known in the criminal world. Kind of the best of the best if I say so myself. Which I do."

"Then I guess you must need my help."

"No actually, you need my help."

"What?"

"I've been watching you for quite some time. I know you have a lot of potential."

"You don't know anything about me."

"I know that you were attacked when you were nineteen and you killed your assailant. I know your eldest brother sent you away because he thinks you have an uncontrollable urge to hurt others. I know you haven't had a good night's sleep in your years and you hurt yourself to keep from hurting others. I know-"

"Enough!" she yelled; her hands were trembling at her sides, "I get your point. You know everything about me. But how can you help me?"

He smirked and took a step closer to her, "I can help you get away from your brothers."

"And why would I want to do that?"

"Because they'll never let you be who you are. They'll never accept you. You're bloodthirsty but they'll never let you get what you want. And if you can't do that then you're going to continue to hurt yourself and we can't have that."

Enola subconsciously touched her scars, "But what if I don't want that?"

"How would you know? You've only had a small taste."

"I don't want to be a killer." She stepped away from him, "That day has haunted me for four years."

Jim stepped closer to her so that they were almost touching, "Have you ever though considered it's not fear you're feeling, but excitement? I mean they're practically the same thing. The only difference is which side you run to."

"If I agree, what does that mean?"

"I can't give you the juicy details just yet. I need to know I can trust you. You can't say a word to anyone."

"What if I do?"

"I'll have a bullet shot through that pretty head of yours."

"We wouldn't want that."

"We certainly wouldn't."

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**Hi guys! Sorry, I know this was a really short chapter but I didn't really know what I was going to do after she met Moriarty so I just ended it there. I promise the next chapter is going to be longer and way more interesting!**

**-flirtingwithanarchy**


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